Fifty one. Fifty one days is all that remains of Berlin. I ain’t coming back here once I leave, you can’t do that. I’ll never live in Newcastle again, never Sheffield, never Berlin. Happy memories in all, of course – and that’s the way I want to keep it. If you meddle too much with the cheerful snapshots that crowd your mind, you risk tarnishing them with your greasy daft fingerprints. Continue reading
This article was illustrated by my incredibly talented lil bro, Charlie. If you like his stuff you can jump on over to his Instagram, here, to see more.
Vic and I were complaining to each other a couple of weeks ago that although we’ve been in Berlin for a quarter of a year now, we’ve only gone to a few night clubs. I’ve been to Chalet, Monarch, Sisyphos twice, Kater Blau four times, and yet there are dozens of clubs I’ve never gone anywhere near. So, when Michelle text me last week saying she was off to the near-mythical Heideglühen for a day party on Saturday, I was well ready for mayhem. Mayhem I tell you! Continue reading
Thursday I braved the snow and lashing winds and headed down to the Bürgeramt in Wedding. ‘What is the Bürgeramt, Dan?’ I hear you plead. The Bürgeramt, my friend, is a frightfully dull bureaucratic building, an official government site where you have to sort out all your throat-slittingly boring paperwork, registrations, documentation, whatever. After three months living in the city, I have finally moved into a flat where I am able to register – which is a crucial part of moving here, as it allows me to get a bank account, get health insurance, get paid, you name it. The German word for this kind of registration is Anmeldung, a term which now boils my blood every time I hear it. Continue reading
A week ago today I went to the zoo with my fellow fresh Berliner Victoria. Dave, the stoned Ron to our skint Harry and Hermione, was supposed to join us at 1pm. However, he didn’t show, mostly for financial reasons. It is rather hard to make plans with Dave, as his phone barely works and when it does he rarely troubles to answer it. This is the case with pretty much everyone in this city, except me, Mr Everkeen, Mr Instanttextback. I get bored easily, okay?
I wrote an article for Unilad a while back, which you can read here, if you fancy. It’s an abridged version of the account of the virtual reality orgy thing I went to a month ago. I was paid £120 for writing the article, however I was told it could take up to 30 days for the money to go into my bank. This wouldn’t usually be too big an issue, except that for the past fortnight I’d been living off around €20. Continue reading
Last Friday, Michelle invited me along to a house party, near Schlesisches Tor. I met Victoria first for a couple of beers, sitting in her cavernous flat overlooking the river Spree. It’s a stunning place. The bedrooms alone are bigger than entire flats back home. It’s the kind of place that would cost you a grand a week in London, but here Victoria and her flatmate Klara pay around €300 a month each. I swear, you could work part time here and enjoy a decent quality of life. Continue reading
It’s been a while. How the devil are you?
I’ve not written any new diary entries for a week or so, because I’ve been spending too long writing while steadily running out of money and neglecting to look for work. Don’t fret, though. I’ve been up to a lot, and I have some cracking stories for you. Continue reading
Holy FUCK I’ve been here a month. Continue reading
After the blissful mayhem of the night before, I woke up in a smiling golden haze, bleary eyed, no hangover. The Austin girls were gone, left for an 11am flight after a couple of hours sleep. I got dressed and floated through into the lounge and kitchen, greeted by everyone I passed on the way, all smiles and hi fives and back slaps. I felt like the coolest guy in the world. Continue reading